Shatter the Night
by AllForFire
Summary: Lady Josephine Montilyet stays up late to finish up more work, as is her usual manner. But as she ultimately reaches her limit, beginning to drift off before finally deciding to turn in for the day, what more does the night have in store for her? Mostly a little experiment, just posting up an idea I've had rolling around since I just got a small window to write again. Cheers!
1. Chapter 1

It was a quiet night in Skyhold.

The courtyards were clear of commotion and the halls were hollow. Hardly a single soul had not already padded off into the inviting maw of slumber, except for those on night-guard duty of course.

And yet, if one were awake and curious enough to look, the glow of candles could still be found in Josephine's office, the woman in question still hunched at her desk, quill in hand and scribbling away at some form or other.

No one could claim Josephine did not uphold her duties and position with the utmost of seriousness and competence. In fact, the general consensus was that she took it a bit _too_ seriously, as if the entirety of Thedas would collapse if she were to pause but for a single minute.

But despite what some may think, she _did_ have her limits. Times where she needed to take a breath of fresh air, eat and, most poignant at the moment, sleep.

The quill was growing sluggish in her hand, the words beginning to blur together, and the candle's light started to become a smudged glare in her eyes.

Finally, she put down her quill and rubbed her face with both hands. She really should go to bed, even she was ready to admit it. But then there was still the trade contracts with a half-dozen new allied groups she could get a head start on, the responses to several minor factions that sought to curry the Inquisitor's favour…

At the thought of the tall, powerful Qunari woman, Josephine allowed herself a small smile behind her hands.

If Mhyrra was here, she would have long since blown out the candles with a singly mighty puff and hoisted her out of her seat before carting her off to bed like some wayward child.

_"__The Inquisition won't succumb to a total cessation of function if you just decide to act more like a woman and less like a machine, Jojo."_ She could practically hear Mhyrra tell her once more in her mind.

When she'd first started calling her that, she nearly gasped, aghast for reasons beyond herself. And yet Leliana had laughed, genuinely laughed, right there in front of her and the Inquisitor. The reason was because, unbeknownst to Mhyrra, that had in fact been the name some of the younger and…less tactful students had taken to calling her back in her university days. To hear it again after so long, from the one she would for all intents and purposes answer to, and someone she would most definitely be unable to simply 'brow-beat' into desisting…

But Mhyrra never meant it as a taunt or pejorative. Simply a nickname, a shorthand to quickly address her in an informal manner and, dare she suspect, a subtle invitation for her to do the same. To 'loosen up' as Mhyrra would constantly tell her in something along those lines.

Once, genuinely fed up, she had let slip a dry "Yes mother." A fraction of a second later she had clamped her hand over her mouth, mortified, as Mhyrra merely raised an eyebrow at her. Right before she burst out laughing. And, gripped in the spontaneous madness of the moment, Josephine descended into giggles alongside her.

"_Finally_. I was beginning to wonder how much deeper I would have to dig before finding the woman beneath all those puffy ruffles." Mhyrra had prodded further, grinning.

She'd swatted her on the arm in response. They had both laughed harder.

What was it about that woman? When they'd first met back in Haven, Josephine was forced to admit she had been unsure what to the think of the mountain of a woman, tall and strong and proud. She had been uncertain, more than a little frightened, and to top it all off she hadn't known even a single word of Qunlat to help ease the tension.

She's obviously studied up on it as best as she could since then. Fascinating language, though a tad too grandiose in some of its idioms and sayings.

Add to that the fact that they were often of complete opposite minds on the subjects of negotiation and diplomacy – Mhyrra's often being of a rather demonstrably more percussive nature, to Cullen's clear approval and even Leliana's acquiescence – and she had initially feared, after Mhyrra had been chosen for Inquisitor, that she would be quickly dismissed from the Inquisition as "soft-hearted", let alone befriend her.

How odd to feel so glad to have been wrong, she mused as she smiled. If anything, Mhyrra seemed to consider her a sibling she enjoyed constantly arguing with. A silly notion, one she'd even scoffed bemusedly at, and yet indeed it and the antics that ensued forth had both completely dispelled any notion she had once had of Mhyrra being a savage brute, and could not help but remind her of Laurien, Antoine and Yvette.

Lost in the thought of friends, home and family, she leaned back further in her chair, mind drifting as the candle's glare began to twist and smudge itself across her mind's eye…

She abruptly shook herself awake, slapping her cheeks for good measure. Tired, unfocused and now more than a little homesick, clearly she wasn't going to get any more work done tonight, least of all properly.

Sloppy, ill done work. The stuff of nightmares. She shivered at the thought. Or maybe she was just cold.

Prying herself up from her chair, somewhat stiff from sitting for so long, she properly piled away her papers for the night, took up her candled clipboard – her deft handling of which still mystified her follows, to her silent amusement – and headed towards her sleeping chambers.


	2. Chapter 2

The moment she exited her office into the Great Hall, something felt wrong. No, everything was wrong. The torches and braziers were out. The guards supposed to be on duty nowhere to be seen, and yet the large door was wide open to a glimpse at the equally lightless and deserted courtyard.

Practiced in not letting panic be the first thing to grip her in any situation, she called out.

"Hello! Guards!"

Silence.

"Anyone…?"

Again only her echo greeted her.

_Steady old girl._ She thought even as she clutched her light source a little tighter._ There's definitely a perfectly rational reason for the guards to all be off duty at once…and to have blown out all the lights on their way off…and for everything to be as silent as the grave…_

At 'grave' she harshly clamped down her own thoughts. There could be a hundred reasons why or how, but right now she needed to focus on how to respond.

Spurred by haste and more than a little nerves, she chose the closest solution as her first one, her heels clacking sonorously as she strode towards Solas' room.

She and the elven apostate were barely more than acquaintances – something she should think to resolve in the near future – but he was closest she could remember, and Mhyrra always lent an ear to his council, even if she didn't always heed it.

Not unnerved enough to forgo manners, she knocked on the door as steadily as possible.

"Master Solas?"

No answer. Of course. He of all people would already be asleep, and quite likely a very sound sleeper to boot.

Already preparing an apology in her head, she banged on the door as loud as she dared.

"Master Solas! I apologize for disturbing you at this hour, but we may have a grave issue at hand!" She pleaded at the unmoving entryway.

Still nothing.

Caught between cross and unease, she dared try the handle regardless. Unlocked, it gave way easily.

_Well, being both unused to living indoors and not being concerned with personal valuables, it looks like our elven guest has yet to get into the habit of locking his door._

Daunted but decided, she pushed her way into the room fully.

There she found the elf, sitting cross-legged on his cleared table, chin to his chest, eyes closed and hands laid atop one another in his lap.

Relief allowing some exasperation to seep up, Josephine strode up to the elf and grasped his shoulder, shaking him firmly.

"Master Solas! Wake up!"

He remained limp in her hand.

And she thought Yvette was impossible to get out of bed against her will!

The thought of her sister's smiling face calmed and emboldened her enough to grasp Solas by both shoulders and begin shaking him back and forth as she yelled at him.

"Please wake up! I fear we have a crisis and I require your assistance!"

And just as Solas' head merely lolled back, Josephine noticed it. Or rather, the lack of it. Snoring. Admittedly she was not so uncouth as to assume Solas usually snored without any proof of such, but upon closer inspection, she failed to see Solas' mouth or chest make ANY sort of respiratory sound or movement.

She slowly dragged her gaze towards his head, still hanging back limply, chin pointing up in the air.

"…Solas…?"

Unconsciously, her fingers slowly uncurled themselves from his shoulders. Once released, his body toppled backwards, tumbling off the table and landing in a crumpled motionless heap upon the floor.


	3. Chapter 3

Josephine hands leapt to her mouth to stifle her screaming. Until her brain unfroze and she realized that making as much noise as possible was _exactly_ what she should be doing.

"HELP! SOMENONE PLEASE HELP US!" She screamed out the door, shambling up and down the hall for a moment before rushing back to Solas' side, laying him out as proper as she had been taught by her family's physician, then pressed her ear to his heart. Nothing.

She pressed and pumped, pausing regularly to give him breath, the rehearsed, mechanical movements as much to try to save him as to keep herself from breaking down.

Still nothing. But his skin wasn't cold! He couldn't be beyond saving. He couldn't be d-dea-

"Why are you hurting?"

She shrieked, practically leapt out of her skin as she twisted her head up to see a pair of worn leather boots, a raggedy pair of trousers, a patchy shirt and finally, an uncommonly large hat atop a mop of limp straw hair that framed shadowed, feverish looking eyes.

And yet despite his potentially unnerving appearance, the apparition of this person, spirit, whathaveyou, could only ease her frantic mind and heart if only a fraction.

"COLE! Thank the Maker!" She took another deep breath to steady herself. "Quickly, get a healer, Vivienne, Dorian, anyone! Solas isn't breathing!"

Cole just stood there, head tilting as he crouched opposite her over Solas' motionless body.

"I don't understand. He isn't hurting. So why are you? What is wrong?"

Under better circumstances, Josephine would have been more than happy to debate the nature of pain, hurt, life and death and teach Cole some sodding _common sense_. As it was, she grabbed him by both hands and shook, drawing his attention squarely on her.

"Just get _help! Please Cole!_"

He blinked again. Then his eyes seemed to focus more than she had thought they ever could, and he just seemed to become so piercingly lucid that instead of reassuring her, she suddenly felt as though she was grasping bladed ice.

"Help. I'm _trying _to help. They're coming. He's coming to hurt us all until we scream blackened songs. I don't him to hurt anyone. So I did the only thing I _ever could_." Here he gnashed harshly on the words, bitterness and sorrow spilling over. "I turned out the lying lights. I set them free. I let Solas go where he always wanted to be. I'm trying to spare the hurt. Let me help you too before it's too late!"

Every instinct in her flesh screaming in alert, she pulled her hands back and leapt away in reflex just as a glint of metal caught her eye. She landed squarely on her back, raising her arms enough to notice her bloodied hand, a thin cut slicing the back of her hand. Frozen and shaking in fear, wide and terrified eyes found themselves almost mirrored in Cole's own.

"No! Don't be afraid! I won't make it hurt! I'm trying to spare you the searing song of the slithering shadows!" He started stepping towards her, stepping over Solas as he went.

Breaking through her tetanising terror, she scrambled to her feet, flinging off her shoes and tearing at her skirt, she bolted through the door behind her onto the walkway leading to Cullen's quarters.

"CULLEN! HELP!" She pounded on the door as hard as she could, screaming at the top of her lungs. She then braced her back against the door, eyes roving wildly. She couldn't see Cole anywhere, and her heart only pounded harder in her ears.

Suddenly she felt the door behind her give way and whirled around to see Cullen and never before had she ever been so grateful for men who slept in their full armour and answered the door with their sword at the hip.

"Lady Ambassador…?" Cullen asked groggily as he rubbed the sand from his eyes. "What-?"

He managed no more as she felt something _whoosh_ past her ear and an instant later a sharp dagger planted itself in the armour slightly below Cullen's collar, sinking shockingly deep, jerking the man awake with a yell as he lurched forward.

"Cullen!" She gasped as she stepped forward to help support him.

"He will hear it." They both looked up to see Cole shambling forward, framed by shadows, another dagger already twirling in his hand, glinting in the moonlight. "The heavier, darker song that turned, twisted his fellows. He will hurt people! I won't let him!" He flung his second blade.

She dropped them both to duck under it, her knee screaming in protest at the weight and impact, but she ignored it as hard as she could to shove them back through the doorway and kicking the door shut.

She held no illusion that that would suffice to keep Cole out, but she just couldn't think of what else to do. She was jarred from her momentary panic by Cullen groaning beneath her.

"Cullen! Are you alright?!" An idiotic question to say the least, but she was well past the point of rational thought, panic having firmly set in, as she scrambled off of him and helped him stand.

"I'll live, Lady Ambassador." He grunted as he pulled himself up, before grasping the dagger, gritting his teeth as he pulled it out in a single pull. "I've suffered far worse. Especially at the hands of treachery."

His last phrase was ignored as she fretted. "You shouldn't have pulled it out, you'll-"

"If it had truly sunk deep enough to hit blood, believe me I'd be feeling it. Just a flesh wound." He then grabbed her firmly by the arm – though with the hand on his undamaged side, she noted – ushering her towards the door to the right of his desk. "We have to keep you moving, you need to get help. Reach Sir Blackwall, and then alert everyone you can!"

"Everyone is _gone_, Cullen! He killed the guards, h-he's already killed Solas! Oh _Maker, the others…_" The full weight of the night's horror was beginning to sink in, breath hitching, hand to her mouth as tears began to pool up.

Cullen grimaced, but pushed it down for now, because for now, he still had people to save from that, that treacherous _thing_, starting with the Lady Ambassador, and Maker damn it all, that was exactly what he was sodding going to do.

"Just go, go!" He flung the door open and pushed forward through it, keeping her within reach as they sped along the battlement towards the stables.

They'd only made it as far as a few dozen meters before Cullen let out another yell, skidding to his knees as another blade sunk into his shoulder. He turned to see Cole perched atop the roof of the tower.

"Cullen!" Josephine called as she turned back to him.

"KEEP GOING!" He heaved himself to his feet, drawing his sword with noticeable strain.

New blade in hand, Cole tilted and swivelled in place.

"So much hurt. More coming. Can't heal it. Can't stop it. Can only _end it_."

He prepared to fling the knife, not at Cullen, but at Josephine. Without thought or hesitation, Cullen dropped his sword, spun on his heal and rushed to throw himself over Josephine. Unfortunately, in his injured clumsiness coupled with his haste, he sent them both tumbling off the walkway, even as the blade sunk into his back once more.

Down they tumbled as Josephine screamed, Cullen twisting them as best as he could to take the brunt of the imminent impact, until they both finally crashed into one of the many bales of hay surrounding the stables.

For a moment, Josephine just laid there, groaning and unwilling to move, until she heard the weaker groan of someone else alongside her. She clambered out of the hay and did her best to pry Cullen out of it.

"Cullen? Cullen speak to me. Tell me where it hurts." She was rambling at this point, believing that if Cullen stayed silent then he would start slipping away.

Another groan, albeit stronger. "Everywhere…"

Cracking from it all, she laughed. At least his mind was still completely intact, and if it hurt, then he was still alive enough to feel it.

Just as she managed to shoulder him, a light to their right made them snap their heads towards it quick enough to almost crick their necks.

Its source was lantern. A lantern held in the grasp of Sir Blackwall's right hand, his round, gleaming bulwark of a shield strapped to his left at his side, clad in his silver-grey griffin-stamped armour.

Relief couldn't help but bloom in their hearts.


	4. Chapter 4

"Lady Josephine! Commander Cullen! What in flaming Andraste is going on around here?" He queried, brow furrowed.

"It's Cole!" Josephine shouted as best she could, grunting as she hoisted Cullen up. "He's gone mad!"

Blackwall blinked in confusion. "You mean madder than usual? The stuff of nightmares to be certain."

"THIS IS NO JEST, FOOL!" Cullen bellowed, even as he stumbled and groaned, Josephine doing her best to keep him steady. "Sound the alarm, we need to-"

**_BOOM. CRASH._**

He never got to finish, the rest of what he may have said was drowned out as fire and light suddenly smeared the world red, a horrendous, deafening roar heralding the main gate exploding into the lower courtyard in a shower of scrap and rock.

As their senses recovered, the three raised their heads towards the ruined scene, only to gape in horror as Red Templars and Demons began marching through the breached entry as leather wings flapped overhead. Moments later, screams erupted from every direction as everything seemed to spring ablaze.

"_Maker's breath…_" Blackwall breathed. "H-how did they get so close without-"

Years of honed instinct had him jerk his shield up to cover Cullen's flank, a sharp ring sounding out as a dagger screeched against it before falling to the ground. Standing before his two harried companions, Blackwall whirled, drawing his sword as he came face to face with Cole, several feet away, shoulders hunched, a deranged look on his face as he clutched two more knives in his hands.

"Horror that twists the heart and breaks the mind. Gouge out the eyes, shut the ears, send to sound sleep to spare the _sundering screams_!"

Blackwall stood his ground. Josephine felt Cullen try to move away from her to stand and draw, to minimal success.

She stood there, rooted to the spot and trembling from head to foot.

How could this happen…?

Barely half of an hour ago she'd been shuffling papers and drifting off on thoughts of her family.

And then she'd seemed to have stepped right into an orchestra of all the world's horrors crashing down on her head.

So many innocents dead and dying, friends killed, hearts shattered…

"C-Cole. You…you need to stop." For the first time in a long while, she didn't really believe in what she was trying to do anymore, more defaulting to raw habit than anything else. "You're not saving anyone. You're murdering them and serving us up to Corypheus on a silver platter!"

Cole twitched, inching closer.

"You can't hear it. Can't see it. You don't _know_!" He raved.

A beat. The image of her family once more appeared in her mind. She watched as darkness and blood consumed them, the Inquisition destroyed and the rest of Thedas falling to evil. All because of this…this _wretch_ in front of her.

Feelings she hadn't felt, _truly_ felt in a very long time bubbled up to the surface: Disgust and Rage.

"All I _know_ is that you're not helping _anything_ but your own _cowardice_, you _pathetic_ **beast**!" She screamed at him.

His eyes widened. Suddenly he let loose an ear-splitting screech as he lunged forward, knives flashing as they clashed against Blackwall's shield as the senior Warden shoved against him, throwing him back.

"Can you even remember how you once asked each and every one of us to strike you down should you ever turn against us, _demon_?" Blackwall growled as he braced his stance. "Consider this my upholding that oath!"

This actually seemed to strike at some last shred of sanity in Cole, his posture slackening as he glanced back at them, eyes glistening, even as he raised his knives again.

"_I'm sorry…_"

"Me too. Oh wait, _no I'm not_."

Before anyone could move, a sound like thunder cracking broke the silence, and Cole's face was suddenly lit up as clear as day as it twisted into agony, a long scream tearing out of him. They all blinked, lowering to stare in stupor at the glowing, crackling arrow shoving through Cole's chest in a spurt of blood, still sparking as he crumpled to the ground, writhing.

And behind him, Zinger in hand and gleaming from the light of the fires that began flaring up the night, and a look of murderous fury upon her face as she knocked another arrow and charged it up, was Sera, clad for war in her sandy Prowler armour.

"SERA! Thank Andraste!" Never before had she been so glad to see the golden-haired elven lass, and she swore right then that if – no, _when_, she still dared to force upon her thoughts – they all survived this, never again would she begrudge her regular raids of the pantry.

Sera seemed to either not hear or ignore her, fury still focused on the downed menace as she slowly circled around him until his head was at her feet, arrow still pointed right between his eyes as he struggled to look up at her, even as blood pearled from his lips.

Even in death, his true nature remained nebulous to them. They no longer cared.

"…Tell Mhyrra…I'm-"

His head thudded against the ground as she loosed her arrow, skewering him through the brow and pinning it to the dirt.

"You don't GET to say her name, demon **_shite!_**" she spat at him, figuratively and literally.

Moments ticked as they all breathed deep.

"Is he…dead?"

Sera kicked the body. Nothing. Then she jabbed it with one of Zinger's sharp tips. Not even a twitch.

"Dead as dead gets." She declared.

No tears were shed and nothing was said. There wasn't any time to at any rate.

"Where is the Inquisitor and the others?!" Cullen pressed immediately.

"Dorian an' Vivi are roundin' up all the mages that can still fight. Dwarfy, Cassie an' Bull are havin' a bloody ball up in front of the tavern. Myrri…" Here her breath hitched, choked for a moment from both emotion and the smoke and ashes that had begun falling around them. "_I don't know where she is!_ We zoomed down the tower, then she told me to go get you guys and split up and, and now…"

"Calm down soldier, that's an order!" Cullen cut into her rambling.

Sera stared straight at him, until the tiniest ghost of a smirk broke through.

"I only take orders from one gal, Cully-Wully. An' you're a pair of horns a few heads short of even comin' _close_ to bein' her!"

"Which is _precisely _why we must locate her in a timely manner and rally whomever is left." He straightened himself as best he could, addressing them all in turn. "Sera, head up as quickly as you can to the rookery, try as best as you can to send word out of what's happening, and find Leliana!"

"But-"

"_We'll_ find Mhyrra, I promise you, but right now you're the quickest and most nimble of us here who can get around the fighting, so I need you to _go!_"

Sera clenched her jaw, but finally nodded, taking off in a sprint towards the base of the tower before running it up some feet before she began to scale it as best as she could.

"Blackwall, I need you to spear your way as quickly as you can towards the others and then all make your way back inside as best you can, alongside as many soldiers you can find that can still carry a sword!"

"And what about you two?" Blackwall pressed.

Cullen sagged slightly in place. "I'm no longer in any shape to fight effectively, so I'll need the lady's help to make it back inside with any haste, hopefully we'll find a healer who's already managed to find refuge. Now go, there's no more time!"

Blackwall saluted solemnly, turned on his heel and soldiered off.

Cullen turned to Josephine, who was still numbly staring at the dead corpse on the ground before them.

"Malady, I abhor needing to rely on you to such an unsightly degree, but we have to go."

When she didn't immediately respond, he posed a hand hers.

"Josephine, it's done. Ruminating over it now will only let Corypheus win."

Finally she turned to him, and in that moment Cullen believed she looked more drained than he could ever remember seeing her. A look he know all too well, and that he refused to let grip her as it had once gripped him. He clasped both her shoulder as firmly as he could.

"You will live to see this night trough, I swear it."

Josephine remained silent, but nodded. Shouldering Cullen once more they, they made their way as hastily as possible through the keep's rear entrance.

Passing through the kitchen and the panicked staff hiding within, Cullen they did their best to calm them down, with marginal success, before soldiering on.

The Great Hall was in utter chaos. Soldiers, healers and every other sort of folk there was either running around trying to help or else make some pale semblance of sense in all this discord, or else lying on the ground, either unmoving or in pain.

_Was this what war truly looked like?_ Josephine mused morbidly. Not the negotiations or even the bloody battles, but the aftermath, the consequences, the price?

She could only feel disgust. Not at any of what was happening before her. At herself.

This was precisely what she strove to avoid each and every day, and yet nothing of what she had done had stopped it, and now, the enemy at, no, _past_ their gates, buildings burning and people dying, what use was she?

"Cullen! Josephine!"

Her trail of thought was stopped from going any further as she heard that unmistakable contralto bark at them from their left.

A bastion of familiarity and strength amid the storm, Mhyrra walking into their sight reassured them better than an army of a thousand chevaliers, even harried and soot-covered as she was right now.

"Inquisitor! Thank the Maker!" Cullen breathed as he tried to stand up straight, only to groan and sag back down.

Face grim but determined, Mhyrra raised her left hand as emerald light flared within.

"Where are you hurt?"

"Do not waste your time with me, the others, they need you in the-"

Cullen did not get to finish, suddenly staring straight into harlequin eyes as they bored into his own, mere inches away.

"Where. Are. You._ Hurt?_"

Urgency trumping her manners for the latest time that night, Josephine grasped Mhyrra's wrist with her free hand and guided it to the two knives still digging into Cullen's armoured back.

Mhyrra grimaced, sheathing her staff and moving behind them, grabbing hold of one with her empty hand.

"This might pinch a tad." With that, she tore the first one out, Cullen gritting his teeth, followed by a strangled groan as she pulled out the second one. Finally, the green glow within her palm burned even brighter, before ethereal tendrils of magic flowed into the wounds, healing them in seconds.

Cullen released his breath with a sigh, finally managing to stand up straight, feeling better than he had since this entire nightmare had begun.

"Knight-Enchanters defend _and_ heal, Commander. And now would hardly be the time for me to start wavering in those duties."

He nodded gratefully. "What are your orders?"

Mhyrra barked out a laugh. Harsh and sharp, Josephine couldn't help but start.

"Orders? There's hardly anything even _resembling _order left amidst all this madness, Cullen. The enemy is past our gates, we're fractured and scattered, the Archdemon is strafing overhead taking free shots at our men and I dare suspect Corypheus himself will no doubt be itching to make an appearance shortly. You want your _orders_, Commander?"

She hefted her staff once more, pointing towards the main door that had since been shut and barred.

"Get out there, and serve our foes fire and steel."

Cullen nodded once more, stony but steady. "And…if the situation proves untenable?"

"Then do your damned best to make sure as many manage to escape the carnage alive, that word of what has happened here spreads as far as humanly possible, and then, only then, drag the bastards down with us."

Josephine could only gape as Cullen simply acquiesced. He moved past Mhyrra, before turning back to her. He crossed his arms over his chest, bowing once.

"It was, is and forever shall be an honour to have fought beside you and the Inquisition, Inquisitor Adaar. For all that you have done, and all that you still may do…for the chance you have all given me…Thank you."

Mhyrra returned the gesture. "The sentiment is mutual, Cullen. I'll be re-joining you very shortly Do at least _try_ to survive this mess, won't you?"

He allowed himself a small, wan smile. "Only if you do the same." He looked just long enough to see her return the smile and nod, then turned on his heel, disappearing through another door to exit the keep via another entrance.

His sudden absence after literally being by his side since this entire catastrophe had begun jarred Josephine from her stupor, just as Mhyrra walked over to kneel beside another wounded soldier, channelling heal magic over his wounds.

"Is that truly all that is left to look forward to? Death and devastation?" Her tone was subdued, hollowed out as she gazed down at the man Mhyrra was trying to treat. His wounds were healing, but still blood seeped around as his breaths grew shallower and his eyes dimmer.

"If that is what you look for, then that is all you will find. I and the rest of us strive for life and victory. We may not find it, but giving into despair is never the answer, Josephine." Mhyrra answered, even as her face tightened and she halted the flow of her magic, recognizing the futility as the man's chest ceased moving.

Flashes of Cole's despair and the ruin it had wrought left Josephine unable to offer a rebuttal.

"And when you don't find it?"

"What do you propose we do then? Give up? Lay down and die?" Mhyrra rose, sternly gazing down at her. "We are fighting. If we win, we live. If we lose, we die. But if you don't fight, then how can you even conceive of winning?

Not all battles are fought with blade and spell. You fight with word and pen, and it has brought both you and the Inquisition farther than if we'd been without you. But now word and pen are useless. But that does not mean _you_ need see yourself as worthless. The only real question that remains," she bent down, picking up the dead soldier's blade and holding it out to Josephine, pommel-first, "is what you shall decide to do now: fight and try to claw your way out of this nightmare, or lay down and let yourself be swallowed by the night?"

Time seemed to stand still, the world deafening and blurring until there was naught but Mhyrra, Josephine and the blade. The illusion found itself shattered as suddenly a thunderous pounding boomed from the door as it strained in its frame, the entire hall shaking.

"It seems the night itself is eager to hear your response, Lady Ambassador." Mhyrra quipped, not moving an inch.

Josephine could only shiver in fear and horror and terror. "I-if they've reached the door, then, the others-"

"Are either dead, in which case it is now our task to avenge them, or simply could not hold all of them back, and thus it is now up to us to defend these people before rushing to aid them however we can." Mhyrra countered calmly.

Josephine looked the sword again, then lowered her eyes, angry at herself, tears threatening to spill over.

"I…I cannot. I don't know how. I refused to learn."

The pommel found its way beneath her chin, lifting her gaze back to meet Mhyrra's.

"Not knowing how and not being capable are two very different things, Josie. Is knowledge the difference between bravery and cowardice? No, bravery is when you feel about ready to soil your drawers and yet fight with all your heart regardless, even if you know you're the worst at it."

The door shuddered again, splintering. This time, Mhyrra laid the sword at Josephine's feet before about-facing and marching towards it.

"Your choice, Lady Montilyet."

Josephine could only stare at Mhyrra's back as she staunchly stood before the weakened door.

Then the world imploded.

Mhyrra threw up a barrier as wide and as strong she could to shield both herself and the hall behind her, but the force of the explosion was too large, too great. Dust and light filled the hall as Josephine was thrown of her feet, ears ringing.

When she regained her senses, scraped and coughing and head still spinning, death, despair and destruction were all that surrounded her, bodies pierced and crushed by debris, others finally succumbing to their wounds.

Before her mind could lock up in shock or horror, clanging drew her attention back. She slowly peered back, and immediately wished she hadn't.

Mhyrra was already on her feet, and locked in a deadly clash, staff and Spirit Blade flashing against the darks magics of the Corrupted Magister before her, as well as the wicked sceptre he wielded. They appeared evenly matched, but she suspected Corypheus was not tired from exertion at aiding everyone he could for the past hour.

And laying in front of her, just within arm's reach, laid the blade.

Timed seemed to slow once more.

Then her fist clenched. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, squeezing the tears out of her eyes. She grasped the sword, heaving to her feet past the agony in her limbs.

His back was to her, so absorbed in the fight, so arrogantly ignorant of all he could not deign to see, he and Mhyrra both had not even seen or heard her approach, could only stare and scream respectively as something cold and sharp sunk into his back, looking back to see a sword held by a woman in a ruined yellow dress.

_"__Echec et mat, fils de chienne !"_ She snarled.

His face twisted in rage. He batted away Mhyrra with a particularly vicious swing of his sceptre, before he whirled on her and clamped his large claw of a hand over her face, hoisting her up painfully by her head.

"INSOLENT GNAT!" He roared. He drew his arm back, then _hurled _her.

She flew across the hall, everything streaking and blurring past her, until she smashed back-first into the throne with a resounding _crack_, toppling the dragon-skull chair over and crashing to the floor in a near-dead heap.

She was losing all feeling fast. She could no longer even tell if she actually heard Mhyrra scream out to her before the clash of weapons resumed, or if it was just some delusion of her dying mind.

Yet still she heard it, or thought she heard at any rate, as footsteps approached her from the left. She could no longer even turn her head to see. Unnecessary, as they walked into her sight seconds later. And when they did, her heart nearly stopped a few minutes early.

Leliana. Or rather, some demonic, nightmarish mockery of the woman she considered sister. Eyes darkened and sunken, faces carved up in deep ridges and harsh lines, skin a sickly and nauseating shade, hair dull, stringy and limp.

And clutched in her – _its_ – grip, slick and dripping with blood, a silver bow.

Her eyes widened further. If she still could, she would have screamed and started to quake.

The thing gazed at her a moment with its hollow gaze, before lifting Zinger above her head, pointy end sitting right between her eyes.

And just as she plunged it down and Josephine felt darkness take her, in the deepest part of her soul she heard the last, most hateful words she would ever hear.

_Useless Coward._


	5. Chapter 5

Suddenly able to move and breathe, and much more poignantly, scream, Josephine did just that, belting out a drawn, horrifying shriek as she catapulted back, head slamming into something as if she'd been skewered by a bolt.

Blinding light lanced into her skull, burning her eyes as she continued to scream. Only once she had finally emptied her lungs did she stop. Eyes screwed shut, folded into herself, she wolfed down several large breaths and was about to loose another scream, until a loud _bang_ sounded off to her right, followed by a voice yelling out.

"Andraste's _Blood_! Lady Ambassador, what in the Maker's name is the matter?!

Josephine immediately stilled. That strong, steady baritone…She slowly uncurled, lowering her arms as she creaked her eyes open. Her vision still swam from tears and the light still blinded her, but as the figure strode closer, she slowly started to make out the dark green of his cloth, topped with the raven of his mane and beard…

"…_Blackwall?_" Barely a whisper as the words force themselves past her stiffened lips.

"What happened? I was just on my way to the War Room to speak with Cullen when I heard you scream bloody murder!"

Craning her head down, the sight of her desk greeted her, the same documents that she'd been slugging through still there, the ink now smeared.

She slowly blinked once, the tears dripping onto the paper, lifting her teary gaze to meet his confused and concerned one.

Before he even got a chance to speak, she vaulted away from her desk, overturning her chair without the slightest care in the world, swung around the edge and, before Blackwall could blink flung herself into him, clutching him tightly as if for dear life, pressing her face into his chest, muffling her sobs as they exploded in full force, her entire frame quivering.

Blackwall was utterly bewildered. He didn't think he'd ever seen _anyone_ this _upset_, let alone the Lady Ambassador. And yet, he was savvy enough to know that in such a situation, there was only one right thing to do.

He slowly returned the embrace, holding her steady in his strong arms, before slowly lowering them to the floor. She offered no protest. In fact, she only seemed to bury herself deeper.

Seconds that felt like hours later, another voice intruded into the scene.

"Oi, what's goin' on around here? Josie spot a mouse or some…" Blackwall raised his head to spot Sera standing in the doorway, face slackening as almost trailed off. "…thing?"

He felt Josephine stiffen in his arms, before she snapped her head up to gaze in the direction of Sera's voice, no doubt only the bright mish-mash of colours she always wore allowing her to confirm who it was past the haze of her tears.

Upon actually seeing Josephine's tear-streaked and ink-smeared face for herself, Sera started, before striding up to the two, kneeling down to be level with the distraught Ambassador and concerned Warden.

"Whoa there Josie…" Sera began uncertainly, "Why the sad face?"

Josephine appeared to ignore the question, instead loosening her hands from Blackwall's sides in order to cup Sera's face, who nearly jumped from the gesture.

"Sera…you're _alive._"

"Hey hey hey! If we're going to get all touchy-feely here, at least have the sodding curtesy to invite Myrri first!" Sera piped as she reached up to grasp Josephine's wrists, though without much force, and without actually pulling them away yet.

"…Mhyrra is alive as well?

"Josie, wha' in _Andraste's doughy tits are you goin' on about?!_ Everyone is just fine and dandy! Well, 'cept for you, right?"

Josephine blinked again, eyes drifting down.

Everything was alright. _Every_thing was al_right_. The thought rolled around a few more times before her mind finally began to grasp it, and her relief struck her so deep she nearly began crying again.

Everything was alright. Everyone was alive. Everyone…Including…

Her heart nearly stopped. Her hands drew back from Sera's face, balling into fists.

"Josie?"

"You have to kill it."

Both Sera and Blackwall blinked. Did Lady Josephine Montilyet just tell them they had to _kill_ something? As in deliberately cause it harm to the point of fatality? Their hearing must be going.

"Wha…?"

Suddenly Josephine tore her hands from Sera's grasp, clamping down on her shoulders as she stared into the elven lass' eyes, angry and scared and pleading.

"That treasonous _beast_ that wears a man's skin! _Kill it. _Kill that demon before _it dooms us all and the rest of Thedas along with us!_"

Sera was not overly fond of said 'Creepy'. In fact, she'd expressed the willingness to put arrows through it more than once. And if it was anyone else who was finally sharing her opinion, she'd probably whoop and hug them.

As it stood, she could only gape, flabbergasted at what she was hearing. _Who_ she was hearing it _from_. Looking to Blackwall showed her he clearly felt the same.

"We're…gonna need some help with this, yeah?" She didn't even stay to see him nod or not, pulling Josephine's hands off herself, turning on heel and dashing out the door, cupping one hand over her mouth as she sprinted.

"_Myrri!_"


End file.
